Mr.Jason,of course,held the key to the situation,and just how I was to get around him was problematical.In the meantime there was the public:to permit the other fellow to capture that was to be lacking in ordinary prudence;if its votes counted for nothing,its savings were desirable;and it was fast getting into a state of outrage against monopoly.The chivalry of finance did not permit of a revelation that Mr.Grannis and his buccaneers were behind the Automatic,but it was possible to direct and strengthen the backfire which the Era and other conservative newspapers had already begun.Mr.Tallant for delicate reasons being persona non grata at the Boyne Club,despite the fact that he had so many friends there,we met for lunch in a private room at the new hotel,and as we sipped our coffee and smoked our cigars we planned a series of editorials and articles that duly appeared.They made a strong appeal to the loyalty of our citizens to stand by the home company and home capital that had taken generous risks to give them service at a time when the future of the telephone business was by no means assured;they belittled the charges made by irresponsible and interested "parties,"and finally pointed out,not without effect,that one logical consequence of having two telephone companies would be to compel subscribers in self-defence to install two telephones instead of one.And where was the saving in that?
"Say,Paret,"said Judah B.when we had finished our labours;"if you ever get sick of the law,I'll give you a job on the Era's staff.This is fine,the way you put it.It'll do a lot of good,but how in hell are you going to handle Judd?...."For three days the inspiration was withheld.And then,as I was strolling down Boyne Street after lunch gazing into the store windows it came suddenly,without warning.Like most inspirations worth anything,it was very simple.Within half an hour I had reached Monahan's saloon and found Mr.Jason out of bed,but still in his bedroom,seated meditatively at the window that looked over the alley.
"You know the crowd in New York behind this Automatic company as well as I do,Jason,"I said."Why do you want to deal with them when we've always been straight with you,when we're ready to meet them and go one better?Name your price.""Suppose I do--what then,"he replied."This thing's gone pretty far.
Under that damned new charter the franchise has got to be bid for--hasn't it?And the people want this company.There'll be a howl from one end of this town to the other if we throw 'em down.""We'll look out for the public,"I assured him,smiling.
"Well,"he said,with one of his glances that were like flashes,"what you got up your sleeve?""Suppose another telephone company steps in,and bids a little higher for the franchise.That relieves,your aldermen of all responsibility,doesn't it?""Another telephone company!"he repeated.
I had already named it on my walk.
"The Interurban,"I said.
"A dummy company?"said Mr.Jason.
"Lively enough to bid something over a hundred thousand to the city for its franchise,"I replied.
Judd Jason,with a queer look,got up and went to a desk in a dark corner,and after rummaging for a few moments in one of the pigeon-holes,drew forth a glass cylinder,which he held out as he approached me.
"You get it,Mr.Paret,"he said.
"What is it?"I asked,"a bomb!"
"That,"he announced,as he twisted the tube about in his long fingers,holding it up to the light,"is the finest brand of cigars ever made in Cuba.A gentleman who had every reason to be grateful to me--I won't say who he was--gave me that once.Well,the Lord made me so's I can't appreciate any better tobacco than those five-cent 'Bobtails'Monahan's got downstairs,and I saved it.I saved it for the man who would put something over me some day,and--you get it.""Thank you,"I said,unconsciously falling in with the semi-ceremony of his manner."I do not flatter myself that the solution I have suggested did not also occur to you.""You'll smoke it?"he asked.
"Surely."
"Now?Here with me?"
"Certainly,"I agreed,a little puzzled.As I broke the seal,pulled out the cork and unwrapped the cigar from its gold foil he took a stick and rapped loudly on the floor.After a brief interval footsteps were heard on the stairs and Mike Monahan,white aproned and scarlet faced,appeared at the door.
"Bobtails,"said Mr.Jason,laconically.
"It's them I thought ye'd be wanting,"said the saloon-keeper,holding out a handful.Judd Jason lighted one,and began smoking reflectively.
I gazed about the mean room,with its litter of newspapers and reports,its shabby furniture,and these seemed to have become incongruous,out of figure in the chair facing me keeping with the thoughtful figure in the chair facing me.
"You had a college education,Mr.Paret,"he remarked at length.
"Yes."
"Life's a queer thing.Now if I'd had a college education,like you,and you'd been thrown on the world,like me,maybe I'd be livin'up there on Grant Avenue and you'd be down here over the saloon.""Maybe,"I said,wondering uneasily whether he meant to imply a similarity in our gifts.But his manner remained impassive,speculative.
"Ever read Carlyle's 'French Revolution'?"he asked suddenly.
"Why,yes,part of it,a good while ago.""When you was in college?""Yes.""I've got a little library here,"he said,getting up and raising the shades and opening the glass doors of a bookcase which had escaped my attention.He took down a volume of Carlyle,bound in half calf.
"Wouldn't think I cared for such things,would you?"he demanded as he handed it to me.
"Well,you never can tell what a man's real tastes are until you know him,"I observed,to conceal my surprise.
